Minor Arcana, Pt 3: Consensio
by Isolde
Summary: Sequel to Pervinco. With the Rite apparently exposed... SSHP, SSDM, DMRL, HPDM, RWHG all at least implied. Slash. This story is incomplete here due to ratings restrictions: PLEASE READ ON SKYEHAWKE @ http://archive./authors.php?no 92
1. The Glass Menagerie A

You must read Declaro and Pervinco first. Find links to those stories here or (in slightly revised versions) at skyehawke under my author link.

Concensio 1: The Glass Menagerie (A)

Ginny listened to the feet passing in the hall, and when they had passed without stopping she gave a tiny huff of relief and turned another page. In the photograph, Harry Potter smiled an abashed smile and waved half-heartedly, as if he'd been asked too many times. He was framed by applauding hands, and smiling and interested faces moved in and out of view. Harry ducked his head a little and glanced off to the side. After watching the photograph for hours, probably, if you added all the minutes together, she knew he was glancing at a specific dark shoulder to his left. It turned aside, revealing other happy faces, but it would be back. In the small picture on page two, she knew, the same shoulder stood beside the Headmaster and shifted in annoyance at the Minister's speech. She'd glared at that picture of Professor Snape quite a lot as well, but she hated this one far more for the way it made Harry blush and hide a smile. 

There was a knock at the door and Ginny kept quiet, hoping they'd just do whatever they were doing without her. She did know a concealing charm, but if it was her mother that would only cause more of a fuss – Mother absolutely forbade them to do magic in the house, not that it had ever stopped the twins. There was another knock.

"Ginny?" her father said, from outside the door. Dad never came to her room. 

She shoved the _Witch Weekly_ under her pillow and threw herself under the covers just before he opened the door.

"Are you asleep?"

"Hmm. Dad?" she said, sleepily.

"It's the middle of the day, Ginny. As we've got this extra day together and it's so nice, your Mother's organised a picnic – we do hope you're going to join us." 

"If it's all right, can I just stay here? You know, all that chaos last night." 

He nodded, looking around her room as if for something they could talk about. "Of course. Yes. Ron says everyone is well, though."

"He talked to Harry?" Ginny said, straightening the ruffle on the edge of her quilt. 

"To Professor Snape, I believe. But he's sure Harry is fine."

What Professor Snape told Ron wasn't any kind of reassurance as far as Ginny was concerned. 

"Do you need another day at home?" he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if things were rather in an uproar at Hogwarts, although I'm sure they'll do their best."

She'd overheard enough of her father's conversation with Bill last night – and Bill knew about the little alcove at the top of the stairs, they all did, so it wasn't really spying on him – to know he was disturbed by something at the school. And she could probably guess what it was. 

"Dad?" she said quietly, and he came over and rather awkwardly settled beside her. After a moment he ruffled her hair.

"What's the matter, Miss Ginny?"

"It's wrong isn't it, what's going on at Hogwarts?"

His hand stilled on her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

And even if she wasn't exactly right, it was worth the risk, and she had a right to know.

"You know what I mean, Dad. And well, I don't think they should let teachers make declarations to students, not that anyone thinks Professor Sprout isn't just offering Neville a job but. . . you know what I mean."

Her father didn't say anything, but he did look more worried, so she ventured, "And it's nothing to do with them both being wizards," just to be absolutely clear who they were talking about, "but it's creepy to think that teachers might be looking at you that way."

He hesitated for a minute and then looked at her rather sternly. "You shouldn't be implying that kind of thing, Ginny. It's not nice, and. . ."

"Everybody knows, Dad."

"Oh dear." 

He rubbed anxiously at his brow and she knew it was true. Professor Snape really was having sex with Harry. 

"It's the Rite, of course, and people used to do things differently. . . not that it's any excuse because there are decent limits, and I'm surprised, I really am, at everyone concerned, and. . . and even if the situation is complicated. . ."

"It's just so wrong, Dad."

"Yes, Ginny. Really, I do agree. Even if there are special circumstances."

"What will you do?" Ginny said, sitting up eagerly.

"I'll have to think about it," he said, looking at her worriedly and then glancing down beside her. With one hand he pulled the _Weekly _out from under her pillow. Harry waved tentatively at them and glanced off to one side with a barely there smile. 

"It's a nice picture," he said, a little sadly, and she nodded, embarrassed even though they all knew how she felt.

"You know, your mother's still very worried that you. . . that you spend too much time thinking about Harry."

"Dad," she said, with obvious exasperation. 

"I know you like him very much. . ."

"I'm seventeen." She tugged the magazine back out of his hands. "Seventeen. The same age Mother was when she met you." He looked a little taken aback although Merlin knew she'd said this so many times. "I don't like Harry very much; I love him."

He put a careful hand on her shoulder and she forced herself not to petulantly shake it off. "But you do realise, don't you, that Harry isn't in love with you."

"He just doesn't understand," she said. "Do you remember saying that almost as soon as you met Mother you just knew how things would work out because you complemented each other so perfectly?"

"I. . ." She was just going to scream if he tried to say it was different. "Yes. I do say that, don't I?"

"Well that's how it is with Harry and I, and you know his childhood was just awful and it's no wonder he's confused and thinks crazy things. All of what's happening now, it doesn't make him happy."

"Ginny," her father said tiredly. "I like Harry very much, and if things were different I'd be happy to see you spend time getting to know him. . ." He caught Ginny's angry look and stopped. "You know who you should talk to about this? Hermione."

Ginny threw herself back on her pillow in frustration.

"She's been one of Harry's best friends for years and your own age and while she's here. . . I think it would be good for you to talk to her." He patted her shoulder helpfully.

Ginny bit down on the urge to say there were only three people she was less interested in talking to about Harry than Hermione Granger. But this was obviously all Mother's idea. 

"All right, Dad."

"Oh good," he said, looking so relieved she almost felt bad for worrying him. "So, you're really too tired for a picnic?"

"Do you mind?" The last thing she wanted was to watch Ron and Her-perfectness mooning over each other, as if it wasn't bad enough she had to share her room with Hermione for another day while Harry was already at Hogwarts with Snape. 

Well Dad could talk to the Minister who would force Dumbledore to at least make him leave Harry alone.

"Ginny?"

"Hmm?"

"I said we'll be in the usual spot by the willow if you change your mind."

"Thanks, Dad."

He gave her hand a little squeeze and got up.

"You will do something, won't you Dad? About the other thing? Cause it's just awful, creepy, we all think so, especially the girls."

He gave her another concerned look. "I'm sure that it was completely mutual, you know, that none of the Hogwarts staff would. . ."

"But he's confused, Dad, and the Professors all seem so important, and it's even worse because he's really lonely and it's cutting him off from his friends even more."

"Yes. Yes. Just leave it to me."

Ginny watched him close the door quietly behind him and curled up much more happily with her magazine, enjoying the rare sound of The Burrow in silence.

~~~

Hermione watched Ginny cross the room to the stairs, still avoiding her. Despite her best efforts last night, because the girl was quite expert at sheltering behind a house full of people, she still had no idea why Ginny was getting her father in such a state about Malfoy and Remus. Hermione would have expected that to seem more like an opportunity than a threat to Ginny, but evidently not. Mr Weasley hadn't been appeased at all by Hermione's insistence that if the relationship was sexual, and no one really knew that it was, there would never have been any coercion involved. 

Hermione took a chair by the fire and curled her feet up beneath her because the room still wasn't warm yet. She couldn't quite concentrate on _First Principles of the Animagii_ though. She was in two minds about whether she should just confront Ginny. As Head Girl she could give Ginny detention with Professor McGonagall and duck in beforehand to have it out, but it did seem a bit hypocritical given that she couldn't deny that there was something quite wrong with the whole thing. The real problem was that while she wasn't sure about Remus and Malfoy, she was sure about Professor Snape and Harry. The last time Harry had talked about it, things hadn't gone very far, really, and Hermione thought she'd know if things had become more serious, but there was something very inappropriate about it all, for which the Rite might be just a cover. 

The other Gryffindors gathered rather quietly, a lot of whispering but none of the usual noisy gossip. Harry made a brief appearance and was hugged and quietly congratulated on the way to somewhere else, and even Hermione wasn't demanding to know where. They'd all become so invested in and just so used to the Rite in the last few months that it was almost impossible to believe it was just another trap for the Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione had heard an edited version of the attack and rescue from Ron, who had heard it from Snape, which probably made it accurate. She'd heard several more detailed and farfetched versions since she stepped through the Floo this morning. The invitation from Cho to join a Ravenclaw study group had also included a note on the back of the card in Cho's tiny neat hand saying she'd heard that the Combined Magics exhibition had been rigged so that Harry would get the cursed pin. The same story had reached other Gryffindors too and only Ginny seemed to utterly disbelieve it. 

Although she might be biased to the point of being obsessed with Harry's virtues, Ginny was cleverer than most people assumed, although Mrs Weasley seemed to have a fair idea what she was like. Possibly everyone else just assumed she was as straightforward as Ron and the twins. If they knew her brothers better, people generally thought of Ginny as sweet and young and probably put upon, or if they knew her better, as sporty, quite clever, and maybe a little reserved. But she was also very observant, and not only with people she was virtually stalking, manipulative too, and probably the most intelligent person in her family or her year. Hermione sometimes wondered if she should have taken Ginny in hand when the thing with Harry started becoming more than just a crush, but Ginny was hard to approach. And now things were even worse. 

They were waiting at least another half hour before the call to a seventh-year assembly finally came, but Hermione still hadn't really read a word, or rather she'd read the same paragraph at least ten times without understanding it. She gathered her things together quite crossly. 

It wasn't her responsibility, and if Remus was. . . even if Harry was. . . well it wasn't her place to defend it or even protect them. Of course she didn't want things getting out of hand either, and you could be sure Malfoy wasn't some innocent victim in it all even though Remus would be the one in trouble, but he really should know better. As everyone else gossiped and laughed down the stairs, Hermione worried about whether it would be crazy to try and talk to him, or maybe Professor McGonagall. And what about Ginny, and how were things really going with Harry, he seemed so distracted now, and what would Ron say if he knew about either of them. Then there was the problem of how the latest complications would interfere with the study programme they'd planned for after Halloween - it had always been 'we'll worry about the exams after Halloween, Hermione' and now it was after Halloween and still all anyone cared or talked about was the Rite. But then she'd always known she would probably have to rely on the Ravenclaws to understand her long lists of NEWTs and her firm intention to make the most of their increased free study periods after Christmas. 

Harry and Ron were waiting outside the staff common room, heads bent together. It was wonderful to know they'd managed to stay friends through all the changes of this year, although Hermione couldn't help feeling a bit cut out. They'd each had their problems this year, some of which seemed finally to be under control - Hermione was instantly aware of the heavy ring on her finger - but somehow Harry and Ron managed to get by just not talking about it, and that wasn't enough for her. They gave her warm smiles, though, and immediately included her in chatting about Nearly Headless Nick's weird behaviour today, appearing all over the place insisting to apparently random Gryffindors that he never spread gossip of any kind and they wouldn't be getting any gossip out of him. It was strange, but you couldn't actually worry about something like that, and Hermione was let into the assembly with all the others feeling quite a lot happier, with Ron's hand brushing pleasant tingles across her back as they found three seats together.

****

~~~

The upper end of the Gryffindor table watched the Ravenclaw seventh year arrive at breakfast as a group, Cho and Lisa in the middle, defiantly wearing their white robes, Terry watching responses at the high table, others looking around the student body. It was a unified statement, despite the fact that everyone else wore standard black robes as instructed.

"Why are they bothering?" Seamus asked. 

"Maybe if you've been really focused on getting it exactly how you want," Pavarti said, "it's infuriating to be told it's all been cancelled."

"Is Padma upset?" Neville asked, and Pavarti looked pretty upset herself, and they'd all noticed that she and Padma appeared to be arguing about something or other, but they never got to hear her answer because there was a wave of excited noise as the mail came in. Amid the fluster of more letters and news than they'd seen in ages everyone still noticed, or at least with some nudging and pointing they all noticed, Sinistra and McGonagall's animated conversation at the teacher's table. The space between them was usually filled by Flitwick, but no one had seen him since the end of the Trial. Dumbledore intervened, and Sinistra got up and, with a very upright and imposing air, came down from the high table to speak with her senior students.

Seamus did manage to unfurl the _Prophet _and scan the front page. "Fudge still refuses to issue a formal statement on behalf of the Ministry until 'certain information has been confirmed'. That would be the 'which side was Malfoy on' information, I bet." Most of them laughed and even Hermione smiled. "And there's something here by Vermeel defending the Rite too. . . blah blah. . . . Hah! Basically saying people are always attacking Harry so that doesn't prove anything!"

Dean's "Where is Harry, anyway?" was lost in the rush of murmuring as the Ravenclaw seventh year all got up to leave again after a few minutes of whispering with their Head of House.

"Since when are Ravenclaws such team players?" Dean said, but most people were watching McGonagall stride off in the other direction, towards the Tower. 

****

~~~


	2. The Glass Menagerie B

****

Consensio 1: The Glass Menagerie (B)

Harry made his way to the dungeons a little cautiously. He had every right to visit Professor Snape, and there could even be a whole range of reasons why. Still, since Halloween there was an overwhelming sense of being observed that Harry couldn't quite pin down. Sometimes this student, sometimes that small group, often no one in particular and just a general sense of being The-Boy-Who-Lived one more time. 

Not everything about the tournament had been disastrous, Harry thought, as he swung down the last flight of steps. That afternoon with Severus, well hour or so with Severus, had seemed so different from anything before it, and somehow that was about the tournament too. He reasoned to himself that it wasn't much, really, but that last long kiss had seemed, warm, or something different anyway, and he'd been so hard so fast at that kind of touch, and that second time it felt like he'd come in Severus 's arms as well as under Severus's hand. But Harry had hardly seen him since, and it was starting to seem, sometimes, like he'd dreamt the whole thing. It also suddenly seemed like a much bigger and more important risk – Severus and him. 

Even with the Rite, they'd probably both be in trouble if anyone really found out. Crabbe and Goyle teasing him certainly didn't count. Never mind Dumbledore, really, the possibility that Sirius might find out didn't bear thinking about. And if the Rite really was cancelled now, as McGonagall insisted, and although Dumbledore was clearly being more cautious it was being actively discouraged, where would he and Severus stand? The Rite had seemed so inevitable, unavoidable, like a strange undercurrent propelling them in suspicious but inexorable ways, bringing them, maybe, to do things they'd never do. 

Harry had been waiting for some kind of invitation to talk, but he couldn't just let Snape make that decision now. 

In the Potion Master's corridor there were no passing students, but there was a pretty awful stench and an open door to Ron's workroom. Ron leant half through the door, one knee on the floor, stacking large books to prop the heavy door open. He pulled a face and Harry had to laugh. Ron looked disconcerted at being caught unaware.

"It blew up, burned or boiled over?" 

"Something got exposed to heat when it shouldn't," Ron said, "and turned blue and runny and foul. Merlin, how disgusting is this smell?"

"Um, freshening charms, Ron? First year? And aren't there vents?"

"Yeah, but I swear this smell is weighted down, so the vents aren't helping much." He waved Harry through the door and then, neither of them breathing, they ran quickly into his room. 

"Shut the door," Harry said, his eyes watering. 

"And leave Snape's stuff in an open room? Not worth my life."

"Clean Air charm, Ron."

"Not going to waste the spell. It'll clear, eventually." He gave the room through the door a worried look. "I think. I'll give it an hour."

Harry didn't waste time glaring. "Invecto," he said distinctly, encompassing the room with a casual roll of his wrist. 

Ron rolled his eyes. 

"That stuff could corrode our eyeballs or something," Harry said.

"I'm only allowed four spells a day," Ron replied, immediately beginning to straighten things around the room. "I'm not going to waste one on a bad smell when I might really need it later."

"What are you talking about?" 

"Snape," Ron shoved some clothes on top of the dresser into the dresser, "allows me four spells a day. Any four, but only four." He moved books from the chair onto the dresser. "It encourages something or other; I forget which important thing it encourages." Finally he gestured at the chair when Harry just stood there. "Well, sit down."

Harry sat. He hadn't actually come to see Ron, but Ron was rifling through a cupboard for something and it seemed rude to say. . .

"Chocolate Frog? " Ron said, shoving a box back in Harry's direction. 

"How does he check?"

Ron turned back to him, with two bottles of Florian's Instant Chill Cordial. "Huh?"

"Snape, how does he check your spells."

Ron prodded Harry with one of the bottles until he took it and moved to the bed. "_Priori Incantatem_, of course. How else?"

"Seems a lot of trouble."

"He thinks it's important," Ron said, shrugging as if he'd given up everything under that heading long ago.

Harry opened the bottle, and looked around the room as the pop and rush of cold subsided. It still didn't look any more like Ron than last time he saw it. 

"So, how many days?" Ron said, from the end of the bed not covered in stacked papers. 

"Three," Harry replied automatically, sipping his drink. Cola, which was a relief, really, after some of the things Florian's Cordial had predicted him wanting to drink. 

"So, it's pretty serious then."

"Sorry?"

"You and Snape. If you're getting anxious after three days, that's a bit more serious than anything you've had before."

"I never said I was anxious."

"You saw him in class today, and yet you said three days."

Harry didn't answer, because it was true, but a classroom hardly seemed to count. 

"Well, he's in a staff meeting," Ron said, "which usually means he'll be back around nine in a really foul mood. You might want to leave it till tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Or, you can hang around and talk to me, if I'm not too pathetic a second choice."

Harry almost said something reassuring, or defensive, or both, but Ron was grinning, curled up against the wall with his drink. "So, has Hermione seen the sty you call a room lately?" he said instead. 

"Hey I'm in the middle of stuff, and compared to our dorm-room. . ." Ron stopped. "You're having me on."

"Could be. Is the old Ron around anywhere?"

Ron pulled a not-this-again face, and Harry had to laugh because he looked a bit like Hermione. 

"I'm not so different," Ron said. 

Harry moved over to the bed, smiling a little at Ron's flinch when he shoved a pile of carefully stacked papers to one side. "Right, no different at all."

"You seen Hermione today?" Ron said, after an embarrassed pause. "I had to work through lunch on Snape's new project."

"Only at breakfast. She's off with Cho, I think. What project?"

There was a definite and much longer pause. "I'm not sure I should say."

Harry couldn't help feeling a bit miffed that Ron thought he had to keep Snape's plans a secret from him. "Fair enough, I'll ask him myself."

"Okay," Ron said, and the pause was obviously a bit tense this time, "but he's a stickler about that kind of thing no matter how much he might like you."

Harry knew it was a stupid thing for them to be snarking at each other over. "He likes you too now," he said, quashing thoughts about how much more absurd it was they were sitting here talking about who Professor Snape liked. 

Ron gave a wry sort of snort. "Sure, we're mates."

"I didn't mean that."

There was a long, awkward, irritating pause. "Ron. . ." Harry began.

"What's going on upstairs?" Ron said, before he could say anything really.

"Well. . ." and it was obviously better to have something to talk about. "The Ravenclaws are walking round in little huddles like someone's threatened them. McGonagall cracks down on anything that looks like it's to do with the Rite, but only in Gryffindor. She even confiscated Lavender's stack of _Supplement_s."

"It's not like it's not on the front page as well," Ron laughed. He sobered immediately, though, when he noticed Harry's expression. "I saw the cover story today." 

Harry closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall. He really didn't want to talk about it with anyone but Severus. 

~~~ 

Severus threw his door open with a gesture from some way down the hall. If he made it inside without turning back to curse one or more of the current staff members into very unpleasant puddles it would be a favour to the world bordering on a miracle. 

There were other things he could do with his time. In fact, if Lucius didn't produce some conclusive proof that Voldemort was effectively in the world again, or about to be so, then he really could see no reason for continuing this farcical situation. He patently did not give a damn about the imbeciles he was teaching, or the ones he was supposedly working with. Although 'working with' was the most unacceptable euphemism for whatever one did under Albus's watchful eye. 

He tossed the newspapers on the table, although there were things he'd rather do with them, and would have slammed the door shut, a gesture which usually kept Weasley away for the duration of the evening, thankfully, but Harry was standing in his doorway. 

"Do you have no discretion, Mr Potter?" he spat out in surprise that was even more infuriating than the boy's presence here, now.

Harry shifted a little without answering, looking disturbingly young in his black school robes and nervousness. 

"Come in, then," Severus growled, "if you're coming in."

He strode to the cabinet and poured himself a Macallan's and water, hesitating over the irritating question of whether or not to offer one to the boy. He really should just ask him to leave, come back tomorrow if he had to when the sting of this evening had faded. 

The boy was leaning against the lounge, his hand curled around the upholstered back, his eyes on his hand as if. . .

"Don't be maudlin, Potter," Severus snapped, looking away again to pour the other drink, "it's not a memorial to your lost innocence."

After only a second Harry said, "I gather the meeting was more than ordinarily bad?" 

Severus turned to deride the brat for presuming to know the first thing about what he had to deal with on a weekly basis, let alone under these circumstances, but Harry was smiling at him in a very amused way. Severus shoved the glass in his direction and sat down. 

"I would have thought you had enough to worry about, Potter," he gestured generally in the direction of the stack of newspapers, "without taking the trouble to come and gloat over my difficulties with the other staff." 

Harry placed his untouched drink on the side-table and reached for the papers. Severus didn't actually know which of them the boy had seen, and if he didn't know the details Severus probably shouldn't have told him quite like that. 

"Leave them," he said, crossly, as much because it was irritating to have to think about the boy's delicate sensibilities as because he'd probably put himself in the position of having to explain things now. 

Harry glanced back at him, perhaps expecting something more. 

"Will you just sit down? I am trying to relax." 

Harry looked at the top paper on the small stack and ran his fingers over the page. The picture of Castor Zabini smiling at some business triumph above a caption that marked him as fatally splinched in the Halloween attack on Harry Potter? The pictures of Sangermano and Everson under arrest, virtually suspended between hulking pairs of Aurors as they were escorted from a Ministry interview? Or the picture of Harry Potter receiving his award for winning the exhibition of Combined Magics, a smiling Madame Vermeel pinning the ornate gold and green pin to his chest under the headline 'Boy Who Lived Will Testify'? 

"Harry, come and sit down."

"I've already read that one, anyway," Harry said as moved back and slid onto the couch. "How long before the trial do you think?"

"Impossible to estimate at present, I would say, given the conflicting interests." Harry was looking at the floor rather sadly, but honestly it was hardly Severus's role to comfort people, and in any case he was hardly likely to be much good at it. 

The boy nodded, unsurprised of course, and why would he be? A strange thing to call a childhood, really, not that the generality of people would bother or understand enough to make the distinction. And, another part of himself objected, it was not as if other people didn't have difficult times at this age. 

When the silence was edging towards something uncomfortable, Severus said, "You needed to speak with me?" 

Harry looked up then, trying not to show his embarrassment – his teeth scraped his bottom lip, his eyelids dipped and his breath rather fluttered, and Severus saw him begin the repression charm with something like satisfaction. He needed practice, of course, but the instinct was already there. 

"I wanted to speak with you," Harry said. 

Severus had to privately applaud the qualification, but he didn't reply. 

"Have the negotiations been cancelled?" Harry finally asked, looking away under cover of retrieving his drink, which he merely nursed in an uninterested way.

"That's a very good whisky, and you might at least taste it."

Harry looked at the glass in surprise. "Oh. I had a Florian's with Ron, and they're always kind of sweet and filling." He dutifully sipped at the drink anyway, and Severus didn't smile at the grimace Harry tried not to show.

"Thank you. It's very nice."

"Really?"

The boy nodded. 

"And what do you particularly appreciate about it?"

Harry almost blushed, he was so close, and Severus didn't know whether that or his cross repression of the blush was more amusing. 

"Have they?"

"You heard the Headmaster's edict. The Rite is no longer welcome in Hogwarts, and indeed will not be supported by the school in any respect until the proper investigations have been completed, at which time. . ."

"But students who've already begun," Harry interjected.

"Only with the express permission of their parents and, I might add, before you venture into any plan to produce a commensurate permission, it will hardly seem necessary any longer for me to continue with the performance of participation in the Rite."

"Malfoy has said so?"

"The Headmaster has said so."

"Oh." Harry took a mouthful of his drink, and didn't bother to hide the grimace this time. "So that's it then, I suppose."

"It seems so."

"You must be relieved," Harry said, looking up at him with transparent intent.

"It will certainly make things simpler, and the staff are of course uniformly relieved to be rid of the foolishness of recent months."

"So you are relieved," Harry insisted, still watching him intently, as if he was likely to see anything Severus didn't want him to see.

"The situation has certainly improved in the last week."

"I don't want to call it off."

Caught up in something a bit like surprise, even though he'd known the boy would feel that way, Severus hadn't expected the hand on his thigh, or that even through the thickness of his teaching robes he could feel the heat. There were a number of appropriate and useful responses he was still considering when Harry slid up beside him, his hand resting now at the top of his thigh.

"I want you to call me Harry," the boy said, ducking his head, although Severus had the distinct impression he was looking for signs of arousal rather than hiding his own embarrassment this time. 

"I most certainly will not," Severus replied, despite the pause which may very well have been less than convincing. He pushed Harry's hand away, but their fingers tangled together as if they were somehow almost holding hands, which would have been ludicrous, if that's what they were actually doing.

"You already have," Harry said. 

Severus could never have honestly claimed he didn't realise the boy was sliding across his legs long before the weight of him pressed them both into the lounge, and in plenty of time to avoid the kiss. Of course that didn't mean he wouldn't claim it, if pressed. 

In the hot wet moving minutes that followed he felt the shift in Harry's confidence too. Hands sought out his neck and his hair and the boy pressed enthusiastically against him, sighing against his skin and finally fumbling for the buttons on his trousers.

~~~

When Remus came in, Draco was still poring over old letters trying to find the right way to compose a request for an enormous favour from someone he barely knew without actually mentioning Narcissa's name but still implying her consent. It really did have to be written now if things were ever going to be managed at the end of the school year. At the end of all school. To be honest, Draco had never given much consideration to leaving home and every time he sat down to do this it seemed rather more difficult than it ought to be. He had brought the _Praetimiterre_ over to the table to keep the urgency of the situation in mind, but had ended up replaying the image there many times, wondering why this was the one his father had chosen. His first summoning spell that worked on a living thing, perhaps, as it certainly wasn't the first spell his father had watched him cast. 

"Are you done?" Remus said, unbuttoning his outer robe. 

"Not really."

Remus removed the silver _Praetimiterre_ ball from under Draco's hand, and took it back to the mantle where, although they never discussed it, it was always kept. 

"How was the meeting?" Draco said, packing away his writing things without having finished the letter yet again. In the back of his mind some kind of cynical echo asked him how much more banally domestic this could get – when your werewolf comes home from work, do make sure to ask after his day. He sniffed in dark amusement and then realised that, of course, Remus was watching him. 

"Particularly tedious, then?" Draco said, folding the papers into the writing folio and drawing his wand for the usual sealing and shrinking. 

"There's been a complaint lodged about my relationship with you," Remus said, rather stiffly. "To the Headmaster for now, but Arthur insists that if something is not done he will take matters further."

Draco completed his spell and returned the wand to his robe. "Arthur?"

"Arthur Weasley."

Draco took his favoured seat in the window and looked outside. Arthur Weasley. "Why?"

"I think he finds the possibility that our relationship may be sexual morally objectionable, and he wishes the Headmaster to, I believe the phrase was 'clarify the situation'."

"Which means?"

"I will talk to Albus about it tomorrow."

"I want to be there," Draco said, keeping his eyes on the dark grounds, but attentive to Remus moving around the room, setting the stronger wards they now placed on the room, making them tea as he always did at this time. Your pet werewolf, Draco, how charming. 

"All right. The Animagus meeting is at seven, so I'll ask Albus to see us directly afterwards."

Draco watched him pour the tea, once more on the edge of astonishment that Remus, what was it, that Remus respected him. If he wanted to be there, well it was his business too and he should be there. Astonishing really. Remus brought the cup over to him, obviously tired, possibly sad, maybe even deeply anxious. 

"Any other news?" Draco said, attempting lightness and rather surprised that it sounded quite as it should. 

Remus sat down in the armchair near the window, turned the cup in its saucer a time or two. "I suppose you will hear, although it is confidential." 

He looked up, and Draco nodded a general non-committal agreement which, for some reason, Remus generally accepted. 

"Filius is to be charged on various counts for making the charms that were used to attack you and Harry."

Draco found himself on the edge of his seat with hot tea in his lap. He swore loudly, floated the cup, fished for his wand, and by the time he'd cleaned things up Remus was laughing at him. 

"I'm not sure," Remus said, still smiling, "if Filius would be more pleased or more offended that you would be so surprised at the idea that he has some dark agenda."

"Professor Flitwick?"

"The front pages will certainly have some version of it in a day or so."

Draco didn't bother to take his seat again, and hesitated by Remus's chair. "I don't believe it," he said. 

"Nor do I," Remus said, running a finger along the edge of Draco's sleeve, "but the papers, I think, would like to convict sufficient people that the whole thing can be put away without condemning the Rite itself. I suppose. . ."

Draco watched Remus hesitate, almost holding his breath, as Draco's fingers brushed across his never smooth jaw. He bent slowly to kiss him, watching that half smile appear. It seemed good enough for now. 

~~~


	3. The Glass Menagerie C

Harry paused on the stairs when he saw Remus and Draco at the Headmaster's door. Although they weren't standing particularly closely together there was something about it that looked intimate, at least to Harry. He didn't want to interrupt and, well, actually, he was rather curious about them.  
  
As the door opened and Remus went in, Draco turned back to look at Harry with a coolly observant expression. For some reason Harry felt like he should apologise, although they'd only been standing at the door, so it wasn't like he'd been spying on anything.  
  
Harry hesitated on the steps after the door had closed on Draco. He'd been attending Order meetings long enough not to expect he'd necessarily know much more at the end of the night than he did now so he'd come up early to catch Dumbledore beforehand. Just sometimes in that kind of private meeting he would tell you what you needed to know, even if you weren't sure what that was yourself.  
  
Perhaps Draco was being asked to join the Order after all. He hadn't look particularly happy, but then he didn't very often, really.  
  
Harry sank down onto the stairs, leaning up against the wall. It was one of those spots in the castle that was never really cold and Harry could feel the moving presence of Hogwarts around him if he closed his eyes and just listened.  
  
Perhaps he should just wait here. They might be out quickly, and then Harry could congratulate Draco and maybe this would finally resolve things between them. Draco would be relieved, Harry would be happy, and they'd put their differences aside and agree that things were better as they were.  
  
Yeah. And then after school they'd get a flat together and Lucius Malfoy would buy them a Muggle toaster as a housewarming present.  
  
In any case, he didn't really want go back to Gryffindor right now, where everyone was sulking about the Rite. Some wanted it back, some thought Gryffindor was being unfairly policed over it while other houses could carry on discreetly, and some just wanted to concentrate on schoolwork now. Well, that was only Hermione, really. But even the Animagus class, which everyone had been desperately eager for last year, was talked about as something meant to distract them from what was really going on with the Rite. They could do it next year anyway, Seamus had pointed out, but the Rite was now or never - and this was Seamus, who'd been pretty casual about it all up to now. There was nothing like banning something as too dangerous to make it seem incredibly interesting.  
  
Harry heard the movement on the stairs behind him before the man turned at the landing.  
  
"Sirius!" he cried, as soon as the dark figure came into view,  
  
"Harry," Sirius said, with a rather grim expression.  
  
Harry went to smile, went to move towards him, went to greet him as warmly as he always did, but there was something almost forbidding about Sirius's mood.  
  
"What's wrong?" Harry said, as his godfather reached the step below him.  
  
Sirius clearly hesitated before answering, and Harry grew even more concerned.  
  
After an obvious struggle Sirius finally said, "Perhaps we better just go in."  
  
"What is it, Sirius?" Harry said, now actually alarmed.  
  
"Not out here, Harry," Sirius said, and Harry probably couldn't argue with that, especially as Severus had turned onto the landing below them. Their eyes met over Sirius's shoulder, a flicker of connected concern, and Sirius turned to see who it was, his lip immediately curling up in a scornful look Harry couldn't help associating with Snape.  
  
"If you don't mind, Black," Severus said, "some of us take our appointments seriously and you are evidently hulking in my way."  
  
Sirius' mouth twisted in disgust, but he didn't bite back in the way he usually did. Severus noted it too and flicked his eyes again to Harry, who had no better idea.  
  
Sirius moved to one side silently and Severus went up the stairs without another word, but with Sirius's eyes on him all the way. Harry watched his godfather's expression, dark with resentment but devoid of the usual teasing. A very unpleasant possibility began to suggest itself. But how would Sirius have ever found out?  
  
The second Severus was past, Sirius put a hand to Harry's arm. "We'll wait down here," he said, his eyes on Severus moving along the corridor towards Dumbledore's door. Harry almost pulled away. Sirius had no right to tell him what to do, and he'd left representing Harry in the Rite up to Dumbledore and Hagrid after all, and in any case if Harry wanted to. he wasn't even sure if they'd broken any rules. But maybe it was something else entirely, and it wasn't like he wanted to bring it up himself, so Harry let himself be held in place and more or less dutifully answered questions about the Gryffindor Quidditch team. No, Harry wasn't planning to play this year. The NEWTs, you know.  
  
"You're skipping Quidditch to study," Sirius said skeptically, and it was all Harry could do to keep his annoyance in check.  
  
"Yeah, you know, big exam time. Not like I can spend my life playing Quidditch."  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Dumbledore was unusually straightforward about the issues on tonight's agenda, and Harry figured it didn't have anything to do with the fact that they were running late. He was sure that it did, however, have something to do with Remus and Draco, and a meeting that was evidently being kept from the rest of the Order. True, it might've been about something entirely irrelevant, but they'd gone to some effort to conceal it. Draco had gone out another way without being seen, and Remus had come in from a back room as if he hadn't already been here, throwing a glance at Harry that suggested Draco had mentioned his presence in the hall. For some reason Harry felt a stab of discomfort at that, and he was vaguely aware of being annoyed with Remus, although he couldn't have said why.  
  
As the meeting dragged on, Harry was more and more curious, especially about the tense looks passing between Sirius and Remus every time there was a real break in the conversation. They were fighting about something? They never fought. It was sometimes difficult to focus on what was obviously the important news.  
  
Professor Flitwick was under arrest, and Order members - except Harry, Harry noted resentfully - had been gathering information about the attack and Flitwick's involvement. It was a large meeting, everyone except Arthur Weasley and Arabella Figg attending, but no one could shed much light on what had happened. Sangermano and two Death Eaters - Blaise Zabini's father and someone Harry had never heard of - had attacked Harry and Draco after the trial, using a form of Imperius charmed in the prize-winner's pins. Everyone knew that, more or less. After veritaserum and intensive Auror questioning, after investigations in every area they could reach, all they knew for sure apart from that was that Lucius Malfoy had not been involved in planning the attack. That is, as far as the minions knew, Severus stressed.  
  
There was also some suggestion of a schism in the ranks of the Death Eaters, at which Severus merely snorted and muttered, "When isn't there?" Moody threw him a hateful glare from his chair way in the back of the room, from where he could watch everyone, of course. The one surviving Death Eater had been clear about three things, Moody insisted again: Malfoy was not involved, Sangermano was not a Death Eater, and some Death Eaters, but not all, had privileged information about Voldemort's return. Whoever this group was outside of Zabini and Entwhile, it was clear they thought Malfoy was not one of them.  
  
There was a long pause, at the end of which Dumbledore quietly said, "Severus?"  
  
As if reluctant to be drawn into the conversation, an attitude Harry, looking around the room, wasn't sure anyone else had noticed, Severus nodded several times to himself, smoothing his hand along the arm of his chair before he answered.  
  
"From our new source I have heard that there is some jesting in certain key households about Flitwick being quite mad and willingly allowing himself to be set up to take the fall for this. I doubt that, but I don't doubt that certain persons believe that Flitwick allowed himself to be involved in this scheme."  
  
"Rumours," Moody growled from the back of the room.  
  
"I don't believe we have anything else to go on at present, Moody. As information has clearly been kept very close, and our only informants know nothing more than what they did or didn't do, then I think rumours are worth considering."  
  
"What do you think is happening, my boy?" Dumbledore said calmly, ignoring Moody's antagonism entirely.  
  
Severus glanced around the room, saying something non-committal but evidently cataloguing who was here. Harry wondered yet again if it was a conscious desire to be seen as holding something back, knowing more than he said, or if he really did know more than he said. Certainly he'd never find out by asking. Harry couldn't help looking at Remus then, who was apparently looking at his hands. That's what he minded most of all about that apparent intimacy, he realised, that Draco would know what Remus knew. And wasn't it ironic that Draco should get the trusting open sort of thing and Harry had no idea what was even going on between he and Severus most of the time?  
  
"Harry?" Sirius said, loudly, as if he'd said it before.  
  
Harry jerked his eyes immediately to Severus, who was giving him a rather disdainful look. "Sorry," Harry said immediately, turning more slowly to look at Sirius, who was glaring first at him then at Severus, "I was thinking about something else."  
  
Sirius looked about to say something stern, which was really strange - Sirius, stern, since when? - but the Headmaster cut him off.  
  
"What do you think of the students' state of mind in all this, Harry. Miss Bulstrode does seem to be a remarkably observant young lady, but what do you think? We don't want to make the Rites even more attractive because they're forbidden."  
  
"And it doesn't look like the Ministry is about to withdraw its participation either," Professor McGonagall added disapprovingly. "But the matter is under control in Gryffindor," she added. "If the other Heads of House would simply take matters in hand."  
  
Even from half way across the room Harry could feel Severus bristle. "No," he said abruptly, before Severus could speak or the Professor could go on. " I mean, I'm sorry Professor McGonagall but it's all they can talk about, most of the time." The Professor's mouth tightened into that thin firm line that meant trouble for everyone and Harry was about to take it back or add something that would make her happier.  
  
"It's perfectly understandable, Minerva," the Headmaster said.  
  
"I really think. . ." Professor McGonagall began, but Sirius cut her off.  
  
"It's gone too far," he said, rather bent over in his chair and glancing sideways at Remus through his long hair, although Harry saw it clearly from where he was sitting. "I say we stop it now. Cancel all contracts, put things back the way they were." Sirius's dark eyes turned briefly towards Harry and slid away.  
  
"If we lose touch with it entirely," Remus said, and Harry watched Sirius's lips press together angrily, "then it will be an even better tool for the Revival, for Malfoy, Voldemort, whoever's using it."  
  
Sirius seemed about to say something, drawing himself up with a frown and clearly only just reigning something in when Severus finally seemed to answer Dumbledore's earlier question without warning.  
  
"I think there may be some merit in Entwhile's claim that Voldemort isn't interested in the Rite, that it is rather too democratic to serve his ends even if it didn't move so slowly and take a form so difficult to manage. He certainly believes it himself." Severus glanced in Moody's direction, and the old Auror's silence was as good as an agreement given that it was Severus Snape. "Thus, either Malfoy is very meticulously covering every trace of his involvement - which is possible," he conceded, "or he is in fact playing his own interests against Voldemort's, or at least someone else claiming to represent Voldemort."  
  
Sirius huffed irritably and shifted in his chair, glowering at Severus. "Aren't you the spy? How can you not know if Voldemort's back or Malfoy's on his side?"  
  
"My demand to be more clearly informed would be utterly suspicious," Severus growled back. "And while I'm sure you won't shed any tears at my painful and prolonged death, Black, I am inclined to avoid it."  
  
"That's enough," Professor McGonagall snapped, and even Dumbledore turned to her in surprise. "Severus is doing his best. But I will not have this nonsense in my house any longer. Children playing at courtship games is one thing, but this situation. . ."  
  
"Is of course so much more offensive now than when it was a secret," Severus scoffed, and Harry really wondered how he dared. Professor McGonagall drew herself up stiffly and her eyes flashed rather dangerously.  
  
"I've had quite enough of your insinuations of hypocrisy, Severus. And under the circumstances. . ." she let her eyes fall very pointedly on Harry and Sirius was instantly on his feet as if he'd been waiting for that sign.  
  
"Really, now, let's all sit down," the Headmaster said, in an apparently mild tone, but one to which everyone instantly turned. "As it seems the subject can hardly be avoided, of course we are all concerned that the children, and their parents, not misunderstand things. But there were needs to be meet, and the Rite clearly permits teachers to offer contracts to students, in fact it's common practice if you interpret 'teacher' rather loosely." Dumbledore seemed to recollect himself, and if no one in the room was likely to believe his gentle vague old man persona it nevertheless made a point. "Now, where was I?"  
  
"The Rite," Severus said immediately. "Does the school support it now, or not?"  
  
"Well now, what shall I say?" Dumbledore seemed to ponder, his eyes flicking from one to another interested party, and Harry felt the old man's eyes on him like a hot glance of light. "Let us say tolerate, rather than support."  
  
Professor McGonagall lifted her chin angrily, but looked away without comment. Harry could see Sirius's hand tighten to a tense white claw on the arm of his chair.  
  
"Tolerate, I think," Dumbledore continued, as if to himself. Without warning he raised his hands, summoning his largest teatray to his desk, laden with steaming tea and fragrantly warm buns.  
  
Harry took in the scent of currants and honey and, with everyone else, waited for the Headmaster to finish. "Within reason, of course," the old man finally said, with a slight upwards gesture that commenced the pouring of tea, "observing the proper limits." He spun an overly bright smile around the room. "Now, who would like tea?"  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
There was a quiet knock on the internal door leading to Weasley's room. Severus knew who it was, of course, and not only because Weasley never knocked unless there was an agreed reason to do so, at least not when it was too late for there to have been some kind of accident. He'd been expecting this ever since the meeting broke in Dumbledore's office and, as the old man almost physically placed himself between Black and Lupin, Harry had been looking at him.  
  
Severus wanted to know more himself, of course, and it was hardly in his nature to admit he wasn't certain what was going on. Oh, he could guess, and though one generally didn't want to speculate on what had Black in a twist the idiot was never subtle. Whether he was livid his old friend was bedding a Slytherin boy, and a Malfoy at that, or furious at the precedent it set for Harry, he was clearly convinced he could put a stop to it.  
  
Was Arthur Weasley actually naive enough to have appealed to Black to intervene with Lupin? Severus huffed to himself in disgust. Of course he was. Bloody Gryffindors. The boy knocked again, a little more firmly.  
  
Severus took a shallow breath and glanced around the room. "Come."  
  
Harry stepped through immediately. Severus caught Weasley's eye as he shut the door behind his friend - his look was neutral, almost impassive. It was clearly time to have a talk to that young man about what he knew and what he didn't, particularly given his father's current crusade.  
  
The door snicked shut.  
  
"How did Sirius find out?" Harry said impatiently.  
  
"I imagine Arthur Weasley told him."  
  
"Mr Weasley? How would Mr Weasley know?"  
  
After the barest pause, Severus conceded, "I couldn't tell you, at present."  
  
Harry darted a look back at the door he'd come through. "Ron wouldn't. . ." he began.  
  
"I'm quite sure he wouldn't be anything like that foolish at present."  
  
Harry crossed the room and carelessly curled up on the lounge. Severus couldn't decide whether to be offended or charmed by the presumption.  
  
"And why is Sirius so upset with Remus, anyway?" Harry went on. "Does he think he should have been watching me?"  
  
Severus was almost too distracted by amusement at the boy's outrage - because, after all, someone certainly should be watching him - to make the obvious connection. "Am I to take it, then, that you think Black's present hostility reflects some suspicion about your. . . connection with me?"  
  
Harry stopped on the edge of a new exclamation. "It's not?" Several signs obviously made themselves apparent at this point and the boy sat back in surprise. "Remus and Draco? Mr Weasley. . . Oh."  
  
"Indeed. A difficult situation for Lupin," Severus said, pleased with the quite ambiguous mix of satisfaction and concern in his tone.  
  
"Why is Sirius angry with you, though? I mean, more than usual or at least differently than usual. And he's absolutely hovering over me."  
  
"It may have finally occurred to him that your being," he allowed himself an amused glance at the boy, "interested in me is an actual possibility." The boy bit his lip and tensed, clearly on the edge of some kind of unhelpful panic. " I am quite sure that if he suspected anything particular he'd be here right now."  
  
Severus couldn't repress a frown at the thought. "Which is why you should be back in your dormitory, Mr Potter. . ."  
  
"Harry," Harry said without thinking about it.  
  
"Harry," Severus conceded impatiently. "Weasley will certainly keep your confidence, but I would much prefer he kept as few as possible of mine."  
  
"What will happen to them?"  
  
Severus had to pause to recollect who 'them' might be. "Mr Malfoy will be moving back to the Slytherin dormitory on the weekend. Albus appears to believe that will satisfy."  
  
"He's not safe there," Harry instantly protested.  
  
Severus bridled at the insinuation. "I assure you, Mr Potter, if Lupin can protect him then I can," he said stiffly.  
  
"Harry," Harry said faintly.  
  
"I sincerely doubt Mr Malfoy wants your concern," Severus added, further annoyed by the boy's distraction for some reason. "Precautions are being taken," he added, recalling yet another irritation in this business. "There was never any need to move the boy in the first place. I'd already promised Albus I would help him."  
  
Harry looked up at him sharply at that, and Severus could almost see the jealousy warring with his concern for Draco. The boy was a fool for thinking you could care for a Malfoy without getting bitten, but the rest of it was, Severus had to admit, rather gratifying.  
  
He had a sudden flash of the boy, naked and panting and waiting for his instruction. On all fours on the hearthrug, his smooth curved arse, his sloping back, his messy shock of hair trailing off into white skin, one hand urgently stroking his prick and his other arm trembling, surely hoping to come before he fell.  
  
The boy's concerned expression lifted into an uneven smile and Severus shook off the recollection. "Go back to your room now," he said irritably, turning away. "With your godfather prowling about we can't afford any mistakes or foolishness."  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Hermione was just coming down the stairs from Ravenclaw, her mind on the mood of the Ravenclaw seventh's common room. She was as interested as anyone in why the Ravenclaws were so adamant about the Rite, but she also wanted to be part of what would certainly be the best study programme for the NEWTs. She couldn't really see that as selfish. After all, Snape still kept Ron very busy, which was frustrating now that he would be a far better study partner than before, and Harry was even less interested in studying than usual. Hermione was taking NEWTs in everything except Divination and Herbology, and no one in her own house understood that, so she depended on Cho and Padma for help and support. It wasn't so urgent right now, but they'd have three half days a week for private study after Christmas, and the Animagus class would take up only one of those. Everything would have been fine, she was sure, but now. . .  
  
In the muted torch lit Hall below her she saw Harry's familiar face. His expression was serious and he was biting his lip as he always did when he was deep in thought. She almost called out to him, but he wouldn't welcome it. It was something of a shock to realise that she knew Harry only wanted to talk when he chose to and that anything else, well it just drove him to be even more secretive.  
  
Hermione stood on the steps for some minutes after Harry had passed. It was one of those defining moments she could probably never explain, where something seemed to have ended. She'd only taken one step down when Ginny Weasley's pale face came into view.  
  
"What are you doing, Ginny?"  
  
Ginny started and turned towards her, one strange expression, which Hermione could certainly have interpreted as guilt, replaced by another, which could have been anything but gave nothing concrete away.  
  
"Not that it's any of your business. . ."  
  
"I am Head Girl," Hermione replied crisply.  
  
"I've been with Professor McGonagall, if you must know," Ginny said. "And if you don't believe me you can just run along and ask her. She just now sent me back to the tower." Before Hermione could turn her skepticism into a question, Ginny added, triumphantly, "We had tea."  
  
She smiled her challenging smile for just long enough to be sure Hermione wasn't going to pursue it, and turned away without so much as a goodnight. Hermione watched her go with some concern, and stepped slowly down the stairs, wondering if she should talk to Professor McGonagall, or perhaps to Mrs Weasley - maybe even to Ron. No, not to Ron. He really never did take bad news well.  
  
Ginny would never have risked a lie so easily caught out, so there wasn't any point in giving her a detention only to have it revoked, or even checking with the Professor. Hermione glanced up at the Hall clock - Almost Well After Curfew - and sighed. There wasn't any point worrying about it tonight. She turned off towards the tower too.  
  
Millicent stepped out of the shadows by the staircase as Hermione's feet stepped out of sight, her expression satisfied, perhaps even smug. She ran her hand along the lower rung of the banister as she passed, humming to herself a little and turned a smile up to the portrait dozing above her. Lady Otterly, Order of Merlin, Third Class, and a usefully heavy sleeper. She skipped the last few steps to the door leading down to the dungeons, her soft shoes whispering on the tiles. She had one hand on the door already when Professor Sinistra's distinctive voice caught her off guard.  
  
"If I might have a word, Miss Bulstrode." 


	4. on reading Consensio at Skyehawke

This archive started removing my stories as too graphic, and so I am no longer updating here but on Skyehawke (.?no=92). Please read the story there.


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